Dude, Where's Uncle Cody's Car?
by Elianna22
Summary: Uncle Cody's brand-new Lexus gleamed expensively in the Pacific sunshine. "Hey, let's go for a joyride," Farshad said. His hand circled the gearshift knob – had Auntie London really called it a "PRNDL" once? Connor felt his eyebrows jump. "No way."


**A/N: Hello, dear readers : ) This one-shot takes place in San Francisco, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It's also based on a real-life experience. As Mark Twain famously said, "Truth is stranger than fiction." And as the CP/BF says of the real-life inspiration, "It was one of those moments where you know in your gut, **_**This is bad. This is wrong. I am so going to get in s*** for this**_**."**

**Disclaimer: Disney owns the Suite Life characters. I own everyone else.**

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"**Dude, Where's Uncle Cody's Car?"**

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Fourteen-year-old Connor Pickett-Martin swirled the foamy dregs of double-caramel-mocha-latta-cchino around the bottom of his mug. _Pretty tasty. For coffee._

Heaving a deliberately loud sigh, he attempted to exchange a bored glance with his best friend Farshad Nazarov, who had also finished his drink.

But Farshad, sitting across from him, paid no attention. He was too busy listening to the one-sided conversation at the table next to theirs.

"Schlerox is one of the top-performing companies in our Silicon Valley portfolio," Uncle Cody declared into his BlackBerry.

Connor poked his tongue into his mug, straining to slurp up the last globs of foam. When Uncle Cody had offered to take him and Farshad to San Francisco as an early graduation present, they had both jumped at the chance. Now, at 11:30 on Saturday morning, the weekend had already hit a low point.

The four of them—he, Farshad, Uncle Cody, and Uncle Cody's bodyguard Bruce—had been sitting in this coffee house for half an hour. There was nothing wrong with the coffee house itself—a bright cozy place with splashy abstract paintings on the walls, wooden tables and chairs, and a list of unpronounceable European-sounding caffeinated beverages written on a chalkboard behind the counter. But the charm had worn off. Around twenty minutes ago.

However, Connor supposed, being stuck in a coffee house was better than spending the morning shopping with Auntie London and his cousin Stella. The last time he saw Stella, at Christmas, she'd stomped on his foot—just because she didn't like what he was wearing.

"Come on, let's go wait outside," he said to Farshad.

Farshad made a swatting gesture with his hand and craned his head closer to Uncle Cody.

"Based on mezzanine financing success and the latest bioanalytic results, we're prepared to inject capital via a specialized series of convertible preferred shares," Uncle Cody continued, "making an IPO eminently feasible within the next five years."

Connor looked at Farshad and rolled his eyes. "You don't know what he's talking about," he hissed. "I don't think _he_ even knows what he's talking about."

Farshad made a face. "So what... he's making money."

Uncle Cody had once been a top executive at Auntie London's dad's company. Now he ran a venture capital firm that assisted high-tech companies that wanted to help the environment. Or something like that. A bleeding heart capitalist, Connor's dad called him. Uncle Cody was his twin brother.

"Whatever, I'm going outside." Connor pushed aside his chair and headed for the door, passing the bodyguard on his way out. Bruce, beefy and foreboding in a black uniform and wraparound sunglasses, sat passively at Uncle Cody's table sipping a cup of coffee. He didn't seem to notice Connor leaving.

Sunlight pierced Connor's vision as soon he stepped onto the sidewalk, forcing him to squint. The coffee house was near the crest of a hill. A light breeze blew his sandy-coloured hair into his face as he walked to the top and gazed out over the city.

Downtown San Francisco splayed before him like a postcard come to life, a criss-cross of rootftops and hilly streets leading to the bay, against the backdrop of an almost unbearably blue sky, cloudless to the rocky horizon.

Nobody could stay in a bad mood with a view like this. A view that made you feel like anything was possible.

The Golden Gate Bridge soared off to the left, separating the bay from the Pacific Ocean, as vast and blue as the sky. They had cruised across the bridge that morning, Connor's heart pulsing as the skyscrapers of San Francisco drew near, distinctly different from the familiar Dallas skyline.

Straight ahead, on the other side of the water, lay the mossy-looking hills of Marin County. Uncle Cody had a house somewhere in those hills, where they were staying for the weekend.

One day I'm going to live in California, he told himself, breathing in the scrubbed-clean smell of ocean air.

His eyes settled on the imposing island smack dab in the middle of the bay. Alcatraz. Once home to America's scariest, most depraved criminals. He'd wanted to go there ever since he asked his dad what military life was like and Dad responded by showing him the classic action movie _The Rock_.

But they wouldn't be going anywhere until Uncle Cody stopped rambling.

"Dude, this view is awesome."

Connor turned to see Farshad standing beside him. Dressed in factory-faded skinny jeans, a striped grey t-shirt, and hightop sneakers, Farshad blended in with the hipsters who were strolling by, oozing California cool. Instantly Connor felt bland in his plain blue American Apparel T-shirt and generic jeans that his mom had bought him at Target. Maybe he should have joined Auntie London and Stella on their shopping excursion after all.

"This still beats the boring barbecue our folks are planning," Farshad said, stretching his arms over his head.

Connor nodded in agreement. Sure, their folks meant well, but there was really nothing special about a backyard graduation party focused on Dad's eternal quest to find the ultimate barbecue sauce, combined with a visit from Farshad's older sister Shararah, her husband Ben, and their three dinosaur-obsessed kids.

He returned his gaze to the island in the bay and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "I just want to go to Alcatraz already. We still need to get our tickets for the ferry."

Farshad wandered to the curb, where Uncle Cody's brand-new Lexus gleamed expensively in the Pacific sunshine. Glossy black paint job, importantly tinted windows, spoke wheels that shone like Auntie's London's eyes when she walked into a jewellery store.

"Man, I love this car," Farshad said with a sigh.

Who wouldn't love this car? It was luxury on wheels. And it was powered by hydrogen, so it was good for the environment.

Connor was slightly startled when he saw what was in Farshad's hand.

"How did you get Uncle Cody's car keys?" he asked.

"I told him I left my sunglasses in the car," Farshad replied matter-factly. He unlocked the doors with the remote function and climbed into the driver's seat.

Connor slid into the passenger seat. "Maybe if he sees us both in the car, he'll realize it's time to go."

"Yeah, maybe." Farshad's hands rested on the padded steering wheel, then he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, scrutinizing his reflection as he rearranged tufts of his gelled black hair.

Connor ran his hand over the marbled wood dash, his nostrils basking in the too-rich-for-you smell of custom leather seats, mingled with a flowery scent from an air freshener clipped to the air vent. The seat hugged his back like an armchair.

"Hey, let's go for a joyride," Farshad said. His hand circled the gearshift knob. (Had Auntie London really called it a "PRNDL" once?)

Connor felt his eyebrows jump. "No way."

"Dude, I have my learner's permit," Farshad challenged. He had moved to the United States from Tajikistan when he was nine and had been put into third grade, Connor's grade, because he was still learning English. Having turned fifteen in January, he was the only eighth-grader at Benjamin Franklin Middle School to have a learner's permit. This boded well for their popularity in high school, since they would have vehicular access well before the end of freshman year. Girls, chicks, _babes _would be crawling all over them.

"So? You still need a licensed driver with you. And it's not your car."

"Just around the block. Uncle Cody won't mind."

"Yeah, he will." It was actually difficult to imagine polite, civilized Uncle Cody fit to be tied. Anger management issues didn't exactly run in the family. The maddest Connor had ever seen his dad, for example, was when his little sisters Shi and Mel had tattled on him for losing them at the Texas State Fair last September. That transgression had gotten him grounded for three weeks, his longest sentence to date.

Farshad had his hand on the PRNDL. "He's talking to a new investor, he's going to be on that call for hours." His dark eyes danced like spotlights in his tan face. The dimple in his chin deepened as his smile grew. "Come on, he won't even notice."

"No," Connor decided. "Absolutely no frickin' way." He used his don't-even-think-about-it voice, one Farshad knew better than to argue with.

And it did the job.

Farshad scowled. "Fine. Let's watch TV." The Lexus had an LCD screen built into the back of each front seat headrest. He turned the key in the ignition and the dash lit up, resembling the control panel of a spaceship in a sci-fi movie.

Connor peered into the backseat. "How do we turn the TV on?"

"Easy, it's this button."

The TV screens stayed blank.

Connor studied the dash. "No, I think it's this button." He aimed for a large button near the GPS screen.

Farshad slapped his hand. "No, it's this one."

The windshield wipers started.

Ignoring Farshad's smug look, Connor twisted a knob close to the steering wheel.

Air conditioning blasted on.

"Hah." Farshad pressed a small button.

Classical music poured from the surround sound system.

"Ewww, old people music," Connor groaned. "Turn it off!"

Farshad fiddled with the button. The music soared. "Dang it." He fiddled with more buttons.

Connor countered by pressing other buttons.

At last blissful silence fell.

"Phew." Connor leaned back in his seat.

A moment later a jingle ended the quiet.

"Dang, it's back on!"

"No, it's an ice cream truck," said Farshad, pointing.

An ice cream truck was indeed pulling up across the street.

"Cool, let's go get ice cream." Connor pushed open the passenger door and jumped out.

Farshad followed, the door slamming behind him.

Connor had just sunk his teeth into a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich when he heard Farshad say in an urgent tone, "Dude, where's Uncle Cody's car?"

"Huh?" Connor's eyes jerked to the spot where the Lexus was parked.

Correction: to where it _had been_ parked.

Because the spot was empty.

Vacant.

Nothing to be seen but the real estate office next to the coffee house and through the front window, the glass-blurred outlines of Uncle Cody and Bruce sitting inside, Uncle Cody still talking into his BlackBerry.

Fear swallowed Connor, the same insta-panic that had gripped him when he realized Shi and Mel had vanished from the line for the spinning teacup ride.

Farshad's eyes caught his, wider than Connor had ever seen them. They ran to the empty spot.

_Cars don't just disappear._

"Where the hell is it?" Farshad demanded as though the car, having become invisible, might have also acquired the power of speech.

Connor swung around. "Oh shi–" His mouth froze on the syllable.

A black car was rolling backward toward the intersection at the bottom of the hill, weaving gently down the centre of the street. A black car that was painfully—unmistakably—Uncle Cody's brand-new Lexus.

"Fuck, what did we do?" Farshad gibbered.

"_We_?" Connor managed over the dryness invading his throat. "_You're_ the one who had the key."

Farshad took off in a run, feet pounding down the hill in useless pursuit as the car kept rolling, picking up speed with each zig zag as gravity exerted its inevitable toll.

Connor tried to run after Farshad, after the car, but his feet stayed put, as if cement had solidified around his sneakers. And all the while the car rolled on, hipsters stopped to stare, tugging on the leashes of their tiny dogs, the sun blazed, and Connor's heart thudded like it was going to shatter his ribcage.

_Screech._

The Lexus careened into a parked car with a sickening scrape of metal on metal and angled away, rolling to a gentle stop in the middle of the intersection.

Relief washed over Connor in a wave. His knees sagged.

_No one got hurt. We're dead, but at least no one got hurt._

It was safe to breathe again.

But before his lungs could finish expelling a full breath, into the freeze frame before him loomed an orange burst—that most famous of San Francisco icons, a cable car.

_THWACK._

The cable car t-boned the stranded Lexus, its tinted windows smashing on impact. Glass showered the street as both vehicles crunched to a halt.

A movie director with a million-dollar stunt budget couldn't have timed it better.

If only a director could have appeared yelling "CUT!" into a megaphone and a clean-up crew arrived, ready to clear away the damage and set up the next scene.

Instead a voice floated into Connor's jittering eardrums—a scalp-prickling mixture of worried, annoyed, and inquisitive.

"Where's my car?"

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**A/N: Special thanks to Wyntirsno for Texan insights, and to my dad for beta-reading and technical assistance. Reviewers get a virtual double-caramel-mocha-latta-cchino. Extra sprinkles if you spot the references to the classic SLOZAC episode "Cody Goes to Camp" (there are two). Xoxoxo – Ellie**

**For longtime readers, this incident was mentioned at the end of Chapter 1 of **_**Never Be Another Tonight**_** as one of the worst moments of Connor's life. A dollop of cyber whipped cream for your drink if you've guessed who Shararah's husband is.**


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